


When Wolves Fall

by AnneTaylor, KinkyGrrlDiane (AnneTaylor)



Series: When Wolves Fall [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:53:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22251391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnneTaylor/pseuds/AnneTaylor, https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnneTaylor/pseuds/KinkyGrrlDiane
Summary: In the scorched aftermath of the battle of Soddem, Yennefer finds herself drained of magic and taken captive by a Nilfgaardian mage. Though she is prepared to die, fate is not so kind to her. Then events conspire to change the course of her life.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: When Wolves Fall [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1621207
Comments: 24
Kudos: 129





	1. The She-Wolf Falls

**Author's Note:**

> I just finished watching the season 1 finale. Though I loved what they did with Yennefer's character, I was unsatisfied with how little air time they gave to Geralt. I was also frankly disappointed with the supposedly big moment where he and Ciri meet. This is what the whole season has been building to? Pleh. It was rushed and lacked anything resembling a plot. Hoo-ha, there goes destiny again. Gosh, we don't have time to actually build up suspense or weave a set of interesting actions together. Let's just have them run together in a forest.
> 
> So, I'm ignoring that whole sad scene. Sorry, but I just am. Ciri is still unfound. Instead, I want to focus back on Yennifer and Geralt's relationship, and just to add flavor and an actual plot development, I'm recruiting Borch Three Jackdaws, who is a character with far more potential than most. Okay, truth be told, I like dragons. I just do. Use 'em every chance I get. I think Rare Species was an episode that has a lot of untapped potential, and I'm tappin' like hell.
> 
> Oh, and I did slip a little Jaskier in. If I had nothing more to go on than canon Jaskier I must admit I'd snip him out of the picture altogether because he fucking annoys the hell out of me and most *especially* he annoyed me through most of Rare Species, though there was that small redemptive moment right after the Borch death scene.
> 
> But the Jaskier that I have read in fanfic is a much more appealing man, so I'm going to open the door for him later. I plan at least three Geralt/Jaskier chapters and some pretty intense h/c, so when I get to that I'll probably have to change my warnings.
> 
> I've had a complaint about this story not being put into the rape category. Err...sorry if it squicked you. It was one paragraph, and as rape scenes go, I think, fairly low key. It might have been a mistake to write it as a single chapter and not a series of related stories, so that each of them can have their own set of warnings. A couple of them will be marked Geralt/Jaskier. Not sure if changing that is going to mess up everyone's subscriptions or bookmarks, so I'm going to wait until I have finished the entire story before doing any major restructuring.

Chaos burned angrily along the surface of her skin, lighting it up beneath her tattered dress and sending pain shooting through her in one last burst, and then abandoned her. Yennefer turned her head, dazed. She was lying on her back in the midst of a seemingly endless path of destruction. As far as she could see, everything had been burned to ash. The structures which once formed the Elvish keep at Sodden were now nearly unrecognizable.

She felt…empty. Not simply the emotional exhaustion which had been growing in her with the passing of every pointless year, but a cold, dead emptiness where her power had once existed.

It's gone, she thought. I've burned out. It was almost comforting. I truly have nothing more to give. I can die now, without regrets. Without feeling that her surrender to the pull of oblivion was a betrayal of those who counted on her.

There was a shimmering in the air to her left. A portal had been opened. Was it Tissaia? She remembered holding the surviving Northern mages in the palm of her cupped hands, channeling the forces of chaos around them, in direct disregard of Tissaia’s command to release that control completely. It had drained her more quickly, but she couldn’t find in herself any regret for her disobedience.

Three armored men stepped through, wearing the devices of Nilfgaard. They looked around quickly, shifting from foot to foot in the still superheated ashes of her spell blast.

One of them spotted her. “There she is. Grab her. She’s spent all her magic. She’s harmless.”

“Go ahead,” said one of the others. “You grab her. If you believe the mage.”

Yennefer would have laughed if she had the strength for it. Surely the fact that she hadn’t already killed them or portaled away spoke to her exhausted state. Like most line soldiers, they were simple fools. Superstition had its uses, though. The dread which mundanes held for mages had saved her more than once.

“We could just shoot her,” suggested the third. He raised his crossbow. “The rest of them died easily enough when you get close.”

The first man struck the weapon down. “Kill her and you'll answer to the mage’s wrath. She is wanted alive.”

Mage? Which mage were they speaking of? It must be Fringilla, who obviously hadn’t given up hope of converting Yennefer to their cause.

Yennefer's head throbbed. The heat from the surrounding earth was beginning to seep into the ground on which she lay. She tried to turn over but succeeded only in grinding her arm painfully into the rocky ground.

“Bunch of useless...” The first man cursed. He strode forward and grabbed her about the shoulders. “Come on...help me carry her!” he commanded.

She blacked out before they got her to the portal.

When she awakened, she was laying on a narrow bed inside a single room cottage. She didn't hear the sounds of battle, or an army, and so reasoned she hadn't been ported directly into the enemy camp. The slant of the sun marked it as near to high noon.

There was a jug of water on the table next to her; she drank from it thirstily. More cautiously, she ate the hard roll which had been supplied. It reminded her unpleasantly of the meals she had used to eat as a child. When she was lucky enough to be fed.

The door opened and a man stepped inside. He looked out of place in the rude settings; expensively garbed, rings on his fingers, a gem-studded pennant hanging from his neck. His eyes were black and cold and there was something in the way he looked at her, as if he was a predator readying itself to take the first bite, that made her want to shiver.

She tried to exert herself, but only the slightest tingle of magic rippled beneath her fingers. “Who are you?”

He continued to gaze down at her. “My name is not to be given to you at this time.” He smiled. “Piglet is the name you were known by, at one time. Fitting. I shall gift it to you when you earn it. As for what you will call me...”

With a swift movement he fell upon her, wrestling her to the ground and forcing a leather collar about her neck. Her fingers flew up, trying to undo it.

“Do not remove it!” he commanded, and smiled when she could do no other than obey him.

No. Not this. She had seen such magic before, foul and soul destroying. At Aretuza it was used only for the worst of criminals; the unrepentant serial murderer, the brutal rapist. It suppressed the will and made the wearer unable to resist commands.

“So convenient, that you should happen to have expended your magic to decimate the Nilfgaarians. I'd never been able to put you in my collar otherwise.” The mage’s eyes glittered with anticipation. “Your reputation is quite remarkable. You should hope that you will be able to live up to it. If I find myself disappointed with you, I shall have to train you up to my standards, and you will not find it a comfortable or pleasant experience. From this moment you will call me Master…”

Swiftly, she rolled, snatching up the pitcher and swinging it at his head. It caught him on the temple, snapping his head back and knocking him to the floor.

“Freeze!” he screamed in a high, thin voice, and to her horror Yennefer felt her muscles seize up and she dropped limply to the bed.

“You stupid bitch!” he snarled. “You'll pay for that, oh, so many times a day, for the rest of your miserable life.” He pulled himself to his feet. “Get up. Position yourself on the bed.”

The horror of the collar was that it made her feel as if it was she, Yennefer, who was obeying the mage’s commands. No physical force directed her limbs. No fog clouded her mind. Suddenly she was back in Vengerberg, in the head of that that pathetic, unwanted child who did as she was told, allowing herself to be ordered and forced with no thought of rebellion or self.

“On all fours. Like an animal.” She felt the chill on her buttocks and back as her skirt was flipped back and her undergarments stripped away. There was a rustle of clothing and then he forced himself into her without preparation and began pounding, his fingers gripping her hips cruelly. It would have been a mercy if she could have lost consciousness from the pain and humiliation but Yennefer had always been strong.

Never before had she had so much cause to regret her own strength.

By the time the slanting sunlight had nearly disappeared from the windows, the mage had fully spent himself. He went outside, leaving Yennefer on the floor facing the wall, with the command “Do not move. Do not use your magic.”

It was a command which could not be escaped. If he had restricted her to the bed, she might have been able to plan an ambush. The sluggish return of chaos had left her with little other than the knowledge that this was just another way in which he would be able to use her.

After a time, she heard the sound of boots. “Follow me, and do nothing which I do not bid you to do,” the mage hissed at her.

Despair threatened to overwhelm her as she climbed painfully to her feet and stood, waiting for his command. He had not left her room for rebellion. Was there, perhaps, a command that he would give her eventually, which could be interpreted as his desire for her death? It was the only escape which she could manage at this point.

He led her outside. There was a dusting of snow on the ground. Much farther north than Sodden, then. Redania? Or maybe Kaedwen. They might be close to Ban Ard. Her captor might have been trained there; according to Tissaia, quite a number of them were misogynists. Frost crisped the leaves of the trees. No birds flitted in the darkening skies. There was an eerie silence that had settled.

“Kneel”, he commanded and she dropped to her knees on the chilled ground.

“Piglet,” he said, smiling cruelly. “I name you Piglet. Make piglet noises for…”

His head flew from his body and rolled across the ground until it came to a stop against a tree.

“Hmmm.” Gerald watch the body fall. “Strike hard and fast when you're dealing with a mage,” he remarked. “Hello, Yennefer.”

There was the panicked scream of a crow, and the sound of wingbeats.

Whatever magic forced her obedience had not died with the mage. She could not move, could not speak. She could barely breathe.

His brow furrowed. “Yen? Yen, tell me what's wrong.”

She felt no compulsion to obey him. Each collar was keyed to force obedience to the mage who had enchanted it. That meant she was free. Free to do absolutely nothing for the rest of her life, as the mage who might have commanded her was no longer capable of doing so. Her knees ached and the strain of kneeling for so long was making her tremble.

“Yen?” Gerald dropped to his knees beside her, examining her face. His gaze dropped to the collar. “Hmmm. This doesn't look like something you would wear by choice.”

She felt his fingers, warm against her throat, unbuckling it. As he tossed it aside, the compulsion left her.

“Fuck!” she screamed, throwing herself back from him, pounding her fists on the ground, letting relief and reaction and a certain amount of delayed terror rage through her body. She snatched Geralt’s belt knife from its sheath and stabbed the dead mage over and over, severing his spine, bloodying his expensive clothing.

Gerald waited patiently until her reaction had run its course, then coaxed her to her feet, pulling her twitching body against his. “I'm here, Yen,” he murmured into her neck. “I will always be here for you.”

It shouldn't have been the comfort that it was. She was still supposed to be angry at him, damn it, for binding them together with destiny. _Later_ , she thought. _I'll yell at him again later_. She dug her fingers into his arm, trying to calm herself. The fingers of his hand combed through her hair.

“How did you find me?” she asked, finally.

“I had some help,” he admitted.

She turned to face the direction of his gaze. Sunlight glinted across the golden hide of a dragon. “Borch, I take it?” she asked.

“He's the only one of them left,” Gerald told her, sadness deepening the lines of his face.

<Come.> Borch's voice rang in their heads. <We haven't much time and there is far to travel.> Two more dragons landed on either side of him, their crimson hides glistening in the sun like fresh blood.

“I brought an extra horse,” Gerald told her.

“Where are we going?”

“I’m not sure. Borch hasn’t told me yet.”

Yennefer followed him into the forest where two horses were waiting; Geralt's chestnut mare and a splendidly muscled black. The mare nickered at Gerald's approach and the stallion snorted and danced about on the end of his tether.

There was no saddle on the black.

“I figured you'd want to supply your own equipment,” he told her, noting the direction of her gaze. “Royal blue to match your dress?”

“I'm out of magic. I couldn't even summon up a dustball right now.”

That wasn't strictly true. She felt the tingle of chaos beginning to warm her core. A dustball she might have managed; a bridle and saddle, no.

Gerald frowned. “I'll lead, then. Can you ride bareback, or shall I try to put Roach’s saddle on him?” He eyed both horses. “I'm not sure the belly band will reach. He's a big fellow.”

“I can manage.” I hope. Assuming the animal is reasonably well trained. Gods…I'll be in pain tonight. Mages didn't often travel on horseback and she had only enough experience of it to know how much her thigh muscles would hurt later.

She saw Geralt smile, a gesture which he tried to hide behind his hand.

Bastard. He knew what she was thinking.

“I'd be happy to help out with any massaging your muscles might need tonight,” he told her blandly.

“If you want to help out,” she told him sourly, “you can give me a leg up.”

Once they were moving it was a relief to discover that the stallion’s gaits were whisper smooth. He was perfectly well behaved. Too perfect. Yennefer suspected that Borch had something to do with that. Yennefer wasn’t able to heal herself as they rode, that was the purview of witches, but there were small magics which she was able to cast on herself to endure the ride.

The dragons could not fly at the horses’ pace, but they dipped and soared high above, in the direction that Geralt was taking them. They were beautiful, Yennifer thought. Red and gold, fire and sun. “Where are we now?” From the silhouette of the mountains ahead, she had guessed they were approaching the Dragon Mountains.

“Velbad. A couple of days west of Caingorn.”

Caingorn was the region where they had first met Borch. “The red dragons...are they the Zerrikanian warriors that Borch had with him?”

“I'm not sure.” Geralt stared thoughtfully between Roach’s ears as he pondered the question. “I've never heard of any dragon but the golds which could take human form. I'm no expert on dragons, though, so... Maybe.”

They ended the day’s journey in a small village on the edge of what looked like a vast swamp. The village boasted an inn named the White Duck and the usual array of small, rude shops and single-family dwellings.

Geralt pulled Roach to a halt in front of the White Duck. Not aptly named; if the sign hanging from the roof had ever boasted the color white, there was now no evidence of it. A boy came running out of the inn. “Take care of your horses for four ducats?” he offered. "Two if you plan to stay at the Duck."

“Where?” asked Geralt.

“Stable in back of the inn. Good alfalfa hay, no mold in the straw. Two measures of oats and a rub.”

“Sounds reasonable.” Geralt fished two coins out of his belt pouch and handed them to the boy. He positioned himself on Yennefer's left. “Coming down?” he asked.

She threw her leg over the horse’s back and slid down. Gerald caught her as her knees buckled, hoisted her up in his arms and carried her into the inn.

“This isn't really necessary,” she muttered, though she couldn’t deny there was a fair amount of pleasure to be had in his attentions. For all that he spared little attention to his appearance, the witcher's chiseled features and body, and the long white hair, were deliciously attractive.

She saw a couple of barmaids eyeing her with open envy.

“We’ll have a room,” Geralt told the portly man behind the bar. He was almost completely bald, with a scruffy beard and jowls that sagged like a pig's.

The man's lips twisted as if he just been forced to swallow someone's piss. “We've got no rooms for your kind here,” he said. “You can sleep in the barn with the other beasts.”

Geralt froze. Yennefer had seen it many times before. It wasn’t the man’s contempt that troubled Geralt. The witcher was accustomed to being treated like shit. He spent his life protecting people like this one from the deadly monsters that preyed upon the world. He risked his life every day for nothing more than the few coins his efforts brought. And they spat upon him and called him an animal.

There was a helplessness in his eyes that cut her heart like a knife. Had he been traveling alone he would probably have gone to the stable without protest and not thought about it, much. But he was with Yennefer, and she knew that he would not willingly ask her to share his humiliation.

“I have no intention of sleeping in a stable,” she snapped at the man. “Your manner offends me, and that is a very unwise thing to do.” She gathered a small bit of chaos, converting it to fire and sent it streaking into the mug of ale that the man had been filling. The mug exploded, sending shards of fire hardened clay spraying about.

“Mage!” somebody yelped.

“Rodget, you stupid old fuck, do not ever piss off a mage!” a woman stormed behind the bar. “Lady, we have a very fine room for you. Comes with a meal brought up and a hot bath.”

“My companion will be with me,” Yennefer told her, just so that there were no misunderstandings.

“I'd never tell any woman who looks like she knows her own mind who or what she should allow into her bed,” the woman shrugged. Then the corner of her mouth curved up and she winked. “Can't blame you at all. He looks to be quite the stud.”

“That he is,” Yennefer murmured. She felt Geralt’s fingers tighten around her. “You don't have to keep holding me,” she told Geralt with a wry smile. “I will find my feet again.”

“You always do,” Geralt agreed. “But I'll hold on to you for a moment longer. You have the tendency to slip through my fingers while I'm not paying attention.”

“The name’s Byronna. I own the inn. The pig behind the bar is my sister’s husband. Say the word and he’ll be sleeping in the barn. Or the outhouse.”

“I’d rather not expose my horse to him,” said Geralt. “Her manners are atrocious enough as it is.”

Byronna led them upstairs. “Best room in the house. Lovely view of the swamp. D’you want the bath?”

“Of course.”

Geralt let Yennefer slide to the floor and watched her find a chair. “Hot water will help those muscles. Otherwise you won't be able to walk in the morning.”

“If your reputation is any match for the tales told,” Byronna remarked, “she won't be able to walk in the morning, but for a very different reason.” Byronna directed a frankly lustful look at Gerald before letting herself out.

“Well.” Yennefer let herself slump back in the chair, her body aching and weary. “If I'm staggering about in the morning there will be many possible explanations for them to gossip about.”

“Small towns live for gossip.”

“I know. I used to...” She broke off. The incident with the Niflgaardian mage had brought those memories too close to the surface. Small towns did gossip, and she had been a frequent feature in them as a child. She been raped once by a boy who caught her alone, fetching water, not that anyone would have bothered to help her even if she hadn't been alone.

The next day, he had been out hunting and brought in the biggest, fattest pig the village had ever eaten. It fed his family for weeks. In doing so, however, he taken a leg wound that left him crippled for the rest of his life.

Good fortune and bad, she was called. It became a pastime of the town, a way to endure the boredom of the long winter. Slap Yennefer on the right side of her head and something good would happen. Slap the left and it was bad. Slap her ass and you would father a child. Slap her ass if you were a woman and you would lose the baby.

An entire body of rules based on superstition and abuse. Yennefer remembered that, at times, she had almost welcomed it. It made her feel... noticed. As if she was significant in some way.

“Where have you gone, Yen?” Geralt had removed his pauldrons and cuirass, and peeled himself down to the pale, well-muscled chest that she remembered so well, leaving the breeches to cover all the choicer parts. It was the state he felt most comfortable with. For all his experience with women, most of it bought with his own coin, she suspected, the witcher did not like the feeling of vulnerability that nakedness offered.

Neither did Yennefer, though for a very different reason. Her body was her own, bought and paid for with coin that would have been judged unspeakable, had anyone other than a mage known of it.

And yet, even though it was long gone, a part of her still saw the ugliness of the child when she passed by a mirror. It was a trick of the light, she always told herself, but she suspected it was her own mind reminding her that nothing bad can ever be left completely behind. As Tissaia had often remarked, chaos had a way of making itself felt unbidden, from the shuttered rooms of Yennefer’s mind.

There was a knock on the door, and two young men staggered in, carrying a large tub of steaming water. A bit disappointing; there was barely room for one in it.

“You first,” Gerald told her when they had left. “You need to soak while it is hot.”

She didn't bother arguing. She stripped off her ragged, soiled clothing while Gerald watched, taking in the abrasions, the scratches, the burns. The long finger shaped bruises on her hips, where the mage had gripped her. A spider-webbing of pale scar tissue now marked her arms and torso, etched there by her nearly unfettered use of chaos.

He watched her climb into the tub, then fetched his backpack and laid it down, settling himself cross-legged beside her tub.

The heated water sank into her bones, a blissful relief from the pain that throbbed inside her. The steam rising from the water eased the tightness in her chest.

His hand reached out, catching her arm as it lay on the edge of the tub. Geralt's fingers traced the lines of her scars.

“That's new,” he remarked.

She pulled her arm away. Would the scars eventually fade? Or would she always wear the reminders of what she had done?

His hand plunged into the water, recapturing her arm. “Your power is beautiful, Yen. Don't ever feel that you have to hide your strength from me. Or its cost.” His calloused finger-tips lightly traced the lines, from finger to wrist to arm.

Yes, if anyone could understand costs it would be Geralt. Yennefer closed her eyes, holding back the tears, and tried to convince herself that his approval meant nothing. It was all part of whatever whim of destiny had thrown them together again.

We're just pawns. Like magic, his feelings are not real. How can they be? He barely knows me. We've ended up between the sheets a time or two. Satisfying, but hardly the basis for a relationship. He's seen my ambition, my power. He knows what I want most. But he knows nothing about me. About the girl who became Yennefer.

The girl she would always be on the inside. Her form had been reshaped and now the ugly pig girl was hidden from view, but she would never go away. That part of her would always remain hidden from Geralt. It must. Piglet could not bear to be known, and Yennefer could not bear to be ugly.

Gerald rooted around in his pack, pulling out a paper wrapped object. He unwrapped it, tapping the contents into Yennefer's bathwater. The delicate scent of orange blossoms drifted up on the steam.

“Bath scents?” It seemed oddly disconnected from what she might have expected from the witcher who, she had observed, seldom allowed himself to be availed of the creature comforts so often indulged in by ordinary humanity.

“Jaskier’s influence, I'm afraid.” The look he gave her was charmingly embarrassed.

She had almost forgotten about Geralt's perpetual follower and publicist. Speaking of the bard... “Is he going to show up unexpectedly at some point or is he occupied somewhere else tonight?” She found the bard rather amusing. So…satisfyingly terrified of her.

Gerald fell silent. The corners of his mouth turned down unhappily. Then he reached under the warmth of the bathwater to run his hand along the curves of her calf, over the sensitive skin of the inside of her knee, across the inner thigh brushing over the thick, dark hair at the juncture of her legs.

Yennefer's breath hitched. Geralt’s hands were strong and sure when he made love to her. He knew all the secret places to touch, he knew when she needed his fierceness and when to let the urgency of his passion soften into tenderness in the aftermath of their joining.

“You are so beautiful, Yennefer.” His breath warmed her ear. “When I'm away from you, at times, I can think of nothing but you.”

“It's not real,” she whispered. “It's magic.”

“You were beautiful long before destiny got involved,” he told her. “From the first moment I saw you, I knew what you would be to me. No woman had ever affected me that way.” He snorted. “Do you think I’m in the habit of making open-ended promises to strange women in baths? And do you have any idea how peeved I was that you let me off with nothing more than conversation?”

He didn't understand what she had been trying to say. And it shouldn't matter. Long ago, Yennefer had taken control of her own destiny. She had decided on the woman she would become, and paid the price for her.

Would I still make the same decision, if I had it to do over?

The calloused surface of his hand cupped her breasts. “Stay with me, Yen?”

“You’ll have me all night. Probably longer, if Borch has anything to say about it.”

“It never bothered me when I was younger.” He bent his head, and she felt the smooth glide of his tongue over the sensitive skin of her nipple. The muscles between her legs ached in delicious anticipation.

“I thought I had forever. My days were filled with monsters and adrenaline and the occasional hard fuck. I didn’t want anything more out of life. Then I met you.” One hand slid down to cup her buttocks, lifting her up. The other reached between her legs, his fingers sliding inside her, sudden and demanding.

Her body spasmed. “We don’t have much time. I understand that. Let’s take our pleasures when we can.”

“It’s not enough. I don’t want to wait, not knowing if each time will be the last. If we’ll run out of time before...”

“And that's the problem. We've used up our time, our lives. Both of us. Every day brings us closer to the end.”

“All the more reason to take as much happiness as we can from the time we have left.”

“As long as we can be reasonable. Finish what we start. Not leave behind unfinished projects that will trail an emotional bleed behind them, like a severed vein...”

“If you die, Yen, I will bleed. For the rest of my life. I'm willing to pay that price. You're worth it to me.”

Another man would have stood, expectant, waiting for her to return the sentiment. But Geralt had no expectations of her. He had needs and desires, but he never tried to trap her with them. He was the most fearlessly honest man she had ever met.

“I can't let myself come to depend on you, Geralt. What happens when I lose you? And I will lose you, eventually.”

That was at the heart of her unwillingness to commit to him. Desires made you weak. Tessaia had taught her that.

He made a sound, deep in his throat, but did not allow the emotion to break loose. His hands continued to caress her, but the urgency was gone.

She wanted him. Did that make her weak?

 _Honestly, who gives a shit_? she demanded savagely. There were worse things than death, and death was the remedy to them all. She had the option of leaving it all behind. She had tried it once, and it had been less difficult than she had expected.

Geralt didn't have that option. His witcher code would force him to keep on, pushing himself past his loss and grief, step by painful step until something else intervened on his behalf.

He was willing to risk that for her.

She'd be a piss-poor excuse for a human being if she wasn't even willing to risk less for him.

"All right," she said. "You've won. I'll stay."

He didn't even argue her interpretation, just crushed her against his body as if he could force her into himself. Her spine twisted painfully. "If you ever regret it," he said. "I hope I won't be around to see it."

“Just take me to bed, Geralt.”

“You’ll hurt in the morning.”

“Good.”

He scooped her up and deposited her, dripping, on the bed.

“Wash first,” she warned him. “I don’t want any of that going in here until the sweat and monster excretions have been washed off.”

He stripped off his leather trousers and gave her a frankly disgusted look. “What exactly, are you accusing me of?” he asked as he stepped into the scented bathwater. He wrinkled his nose theatrically at the smell.

“Well,” she remarked, “there have been some fairly strange tales sung about exactly what you were required to do in order to defeat certain varieties of monsters. I recall there was one, a particular variety of succubus…”

“Pah,” Geralt muttered sulkily. “Still getting it wrong.”

Whatever it was that Geralt had thought he was getting wrong, his skill with lovemaking was not it. There was a playfulness in him that had apparently laid beneath the surface of his intensity, that he now felt safe to offer her. She found she quite liked it. And in herself, Yennefer felt an intensity that she’d never dared give rein to before.

It was a satisfyingly long night.


	2. Just One Day in the Life of a Witcher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Yennefer have been hired by Borch Three Jackdaws. They don't know what they've been hired to do, but the job pays well. First they have to get there, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two, and counting. I'm moving slower than I expected. This has pushed out to five chapters, maybe more.

In the morning, Yennefer was served a hearty breakfast of smoky bacon, fried eggs, and toasted bread spread with honey. The carafe of wine wasn't of high-quality, but it was well aged.

As she ate, she worked on restoring her dress to something resembling its original condition. Probably a good thing that she’d been able to demonstrate her magical potency last night, otherwise she’d more than likely have been taken for a whore, and a particularly cheap one at that. They often tore their clothing to provoke or reveal.

She finished her meal and went downstairs, looking for Geralt. He was outside with Roach and her black mount, which now had a saddle and bridle.

“Any sign of Borch this morning?”

“He came by briefly. Told me to head straight for that mountain, the one with the double crown.”

Yennefer frowned. “That's at least three days to the base of it and who knows how long till we find a path or pathway. Does he expect us to climb all the way up?”

“Have you got some place more urgent to be?”

“Maybe.” She wondered how many were left alive at Sommer Hill. Had the Nilfgaardians taken possession? Or had Foltest finally managed to drag his ass onto the battlefield?

Her help would always be wanted, no doubt. But Yennefer owed Borch a debt that must be paid before she could return to her war against Nilfgaard.

Besides, walking out on the chance to gain as an ally a man who could see the future? Not a bright move.

She had tried to contact Tissaia several times that morning, but there was no answer from her mentor.

 _Please, Tissaia, don't be dead_. “Have you eaten breakfast yet?” she asked Geralt as he prepared to mount Roach.

“Apples in the trees behind the stable,” He told her. “A little wormy and fairly withered, but at least they weren't infested with dubkin.”

Obviously, he wanted her to ask. “What are dubkin?”

“Like nasty little maggots except that they prefer living flesh to carrion. They eventually migrate to your eyeballs and that's when things get really disturbing.”

She gave him a scowl. “The Duck owes us both a breakfast. I’ve had mine…”

“Let it go, Yen. I don't need to be served breakfast where I'm not wanted. I’d probably end up being poisoned.”

“I’d probably end up burning their fucking inn to the ground.” The innkeeper, Byronna, had been absent when she came downstairs, Yennefer recalled. Only the jowly man had been there, sweeping the floor. He had not looked up when Yennefer passed, though she couldn't tell if it was fear or resentment that gripped the man.

Geralt was right, though. The town wasn't important enough for it to matter. Yennefer patted the black’s neck and murmured “Good morning, beautiful boy.”

“You're not really going to name the horse that, are you?”

“Tempted…” Yennefer watched Geralt tighten the stallion’s belly band. “I'll have to give it some thought.”

“I don't think there are any more towns in between here and there.” Geralt mounted Roach. “We'll have to rough it. Do I need to buy some equipment?”

“Might be a good idea.” It was as close as Yennefer could come to admitting that her magic could no longer be relied on the way they were both accustomed to. She had lost her magically enhanced tent, a loss she felt keenly. “Have you got enough money?” Normally her pockets were far deeper than Geralt's but she hadn't a ducat at her disposal and she hadn't the energy to portal. I should be feeling more insecure about this, she thought. Being forced to rely on Geralt. It was a thing that might have driven her into a defiant act in times past, just to prove that she didn’t need anyone’s help. But Geralt wasn’t a man who required acknowledgement for his contributions the way a normal man would.

“Borch gave me a generous advance for whatever service we're going to render him.” Geralt fished about in his pack. “Here.” He dropped a handful of coins into her hands. “You get us enough trail food to last a week or two and I'll find a tent and extra set of sleeping furs.”

Yennefer hauled herself onto the stallion’s back. “Meet you in front of the inn an hour from now?”

“Reasonable.” A sudden grin transformed his face, like a streak of molten gold breaking through a cloud. “It's good to know someone will be waiting for me, Yen.”

She thought about it for a moment. Yes, it is. “Hmmm.”

Her black immediately moved forward at the nudge of her legs, and they trotted off to the achingly unfamiliar sound of Gerald's laughter.

* * *

Swamps were unpleasant places, even if one knew one could portal away at any moment. Without that surety, they progressed from unpleasant to vile and then kept right on going into the realms of the indescribable.

They bubbled and reeked. Smooth skinned amphibians with vestigial legs thrashed about beneath the surface of the water and occasionally slithered up through the mud. The trees were bent over and hung heavy with strands of slime and occasionally snakes.

“I suppose it's a little late to be asking, but couldn't we have gone around this?”

“It's a big swamp. Wide from east to west, running along the river, but not too broad. We'd have lost several days. Borch was very clear...he wants us to go straight to Two Crowns.”

“If it's all that urgent, I don't see why he couldn't simply have picked us up and carried us,” Yennefer muttered resentfully. Geralt had given her an ointment to ward off insects, saying she should learn to conserve her power whenever possible.

His words had given her a moment of sheer terror. _He thinks I won't recover_. It had taken her a moment to regain control, to remember who she was. I will not be kept down. I am Yennefer of Vengerberg.

Or perhaps not. Vengerberg has never given me anything of worth. Why should I acknowledge its name?

I am Yennefer of Fuck Off And Die.

That had a nice ring to it.

She watched several dozen flying things veer off from the stink of her bug repellent miasma. She didn't blame them for keeping away, she could barely tolerate herself. They had multiple legs all scissoring Inward and pale faces that reminded her of squashed babies. What a delightful image.

“You know, I had always wondered why you were so foul-tempered. You spend a lot of time in places like this, don't you?”

“It pays.”

“So does cleaning outhouses.”

“It's far more interesting. Nobody will ever write a ballad about a cleaner of outhouses.”

“They might. If they were trying to be clever. And speaking of ballads and trying to be clever, you very cleverly distracted my question the other night. Where is your devoted musical herald?

“Gone.”

“Gone where?”

“Hmmm.”

“No. Not happening. You can be silent and monosyllabic to your heart’s content when you’re on display, but when it’s just the two of us you will fucking well answer me.”

Geralt’s lips tightened. “Does that go both ways?”

The black gave a surge forward as her muscles clenched. “Yes,” she answered cautiously. “What do you want to know?”

“Later. This isn’t the place for such discussions. We quarreled.”

“Over what?”

“I was…angry. About how everything had turned out after the job in Caingorn. I blamed him.”

Yennefer thought back. “Well, he was rather worse than useless. And he did make a fool of himself over Borch’s bodyguards. Repeatedly. But,” she asked, puzzled, “is that all that surprising? He’s a bard, that’s what they do. Ornamental and entertaining. I’m not sure what he could have done…” more than he did. She remembered the shell-shocked look in Geralt’s eyes, mourning Borch’s death. Jaskier had sat with Geralt, making no attempt to entertain. It had been refreshing and, she could admit it now, a little touching.

Geralt sat his horse mulishly. A plum-sized multi-winged creature with wicked pinchers buzzed around his head. He swatted it, and it flew away.

Yennefer dug into her newly tooled saddlebags, pulled out a withered apple and bit into it. “Waiting for the rest of it.”

“I was angry, Yen. Really angry.”

Realization dawned. “You were angry at me. And he was the first target that presented himself.”

Geralt’s jaw worked.

“Fuck.”

He didn’t bother telling her it wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t, and it was. They both knew what they had done to each other, and that there was nothing more to be said about it. “Have you seen him since?” The trees seemed to echo with a low-key hum. Sunlight and shadow blended together, the waters glittering in a serpentine pattern.

“Once. From a distance. I don’t think he saw me.”

Don’t count on it. “Whatever you said…I suppose it was fairly unforgiveable?” The wind had died down on the pathway along which they traveled, but she could see that it had picked up farther down.

“Afraid so.”

“He’s had a year to…Geralt…something’s coming.” It wasn’t the wind that was moving ahead of them.

“Fuck. Pull your cloak over your head and keep it down.”

“What is it.”

“Miriads.”

And then the swarm was upon them. Yennefer felt flying bodies strike her from all sides. They weren’t large but the speed at which they traveled made their impact felt. One of them wormed its way under her cloak and bit her. “Fucking…” She called a spark of chaos, converted it to electricity and fried the little monster. “Are these things dangerous, or just a nuisance?” she shouted.

“Nuisance. Fish eaters. They sometimes work their way out from the coast.”

She heard Roach squeal in rage. Her stallion’s hindquarters bunched. “Stay, horse!” she ordered. His four feet planted squarely. She felt his muscles trembling beneath her. Borch must have planted obedience in his head; no normal horse would have been so biddable. Another debt she owed him. “How do we get rid of them?!”

“Wait. Once they get a bite they know you aren’t food and they’ll go away.”

Bloody hell, Geralt. “They’re biting my horse!” She heard a crunch as the stallion mangled one of his tormenters. One of the miriads managed to get its teeth into her through the cloak.

Another squeal and an angry hum. Roach had apparently had enough. Yennefer heard a loud splash and the sound of retreating hoofbeats.

Eventually things quieted down. Yennefer peeled back her hood in time to see Geralt hauling himself out of the feculent swamp waters. His hair was the color of coffee grounds and liquid sediment dribbled from beneath his armor. Wonderful, she thought. He can ride downwind. “I’ll go fetch Roach.”

“No. I’ll find her. She won’t have gone far.” The forced evenness of his voice brooked no argument.

Yennefer looked about. Dozens of crushed miriad corpses littered the ground in a semicircle around the stallion. “Good boy,” she crooned, patting him. She urged him forward a few steps and patted him again. Geralt was right, the poor animal needed a name.

After a while, Roach plodded into sight, Geralt on her back. She didn’t even look sorry, the faithless minx. “Let’s go,” Geralt ordered sourly.

Yennefer squeezed the stallion into a trot, catching up and riding beside him, silently, until the thunderclouds on his grime stained brow began to soften. “I’ve decided on a name for my horse.”

“Is it going to make me want to stab myself repeatedly in the eyeball?”

“No more so than normal. At first, I was going to call him Carrion Crow, but that was too much of a mouthful and I knew I’d regret it when I was less irked, so I decided on…Vandal.”

He thought about that for a moment. “Hmmm.”

Yennefer was beginning to be able to distinguish between his grunts. “Glad you approve.”

For a time, they rode in silence, broken only by the thud and squelch of the horses' hooves and occasional hoots or cries from some unseen swamp resident. When the wind bore down on her, the cold of it cut right through her dress to chill her skin. She hadn't the energy to spare for constant heating, and wryly, she regretted the revealing cut of her bodice. Designed for allure, not warmth. Gooseflesh rode up her arms, pulling at her scars.

"What do you suppose Borch wants from us?"

"He hasn't said."

"Of course not." She let sarcasm creep into her tone. "But you must have speculations."

"Probably has something to do with dragons."

One of the most frustrating things about Geralt was when you really wanted to discuss something with him it was like trying to pull out a nail without a head, and when you didn't, he wouldn't leave it alone.

Then again, that sounded like men in general, so it wasn't fair to assign too much blame there. "Geralt."

"Hmmm."

"I…oh, never mind."

The shadows had lengthened, spilling across the dark waters and casting the trees into a twilight state, the sunny half a dank, mossy green and the shadowed half nearly black. The wind stirred the creepers that hung down, swaying back and forth as if they had a life of their own.

As if they had a life of their own... "Geralt!"

"Hmmm?"

"The trees. The wind isn't hard enough to make them do that."

He blinked, scanning the trees. "Fuck. Back the way we came." He whirled Roach but it was too late. Roots rose up to block their path, like rough-skinned snakes, tearing themselves from the mud and striking. Roach danced back, obviously this wasn't her first combat, but Vandal's leg was snared. He tried to rear but slipped in the mud and nearly unseated Yennefer, who clung desperately to the saddle.

"What is it!?" She yanked down a handful of fire and launched it at the root, at the thickest point, and it burned and snapped off. Vandal squealed and shook it off his foreleg.

"A pletha. It's a...collection of things that are able to act together. None too bright, but they don't need to be."

"How do we get out?"

"I have to find the heart."

"What does it look like?"

"Depends."

Helpful, as always. Yennefer threw out a web of awareness, a subtle spell that would alert her to any movement. It was useful in a potential ambush and she had used it numerous times when she was responsible for keeping watch.

Just in time. A tree creeper dropped almost on top of her; she threw up her off-hand and waited until it coiled around her, just to test its strength. Not enough to pull her from Vandal, but a dozen of these could do the job. She sent a bolt of fire to wither the creeper and another into the heart of the tree. The tree began to burn and its creepers thrashed about. Then both creepers and roots began to work together, slapping the water, plunging down and up again.

If it had looked like a proper monster it wouldn't have been so bad, but it just looked like a tree. It reminded Yennefer of some of the things she'd seen Triss do; wood animating at the witch's command. She wondered if a witch's curse gone wrong had created this.

Geralt was swinging his silver sword, indiscriminately lopping off anything that came close. Roach was angrily mouthing a chunk of wood that seemed to be wedged behind her back teeth; every time she was snagged she would use her teeth on the slimy bark.

Something was undulating in the depths of a pool to her right. "Geralt! There's something down there."

He backed Roach toward her and dismounted. "I see it." He dived into the pool with a quiet splash.

Roach crowded against Vandal, who snapped at her, eyes rolling. He was definitely going to need more battle bronzing. Damn. Where was Borch when you needed him?

Geralt kicked downward with powerful strokes. His blade flashed.

A thick root ripped up from the tree next to Yennefer. Vandal squealed as it settled over his hindquarters. He crow-kicked and his head whipped around. His strong front teeth bit into the dripping

Yennefer hurled another fireball into the tree, but it seemed to have gotten a bit smarter. Instead of directing all its resources to putting out the fire it left that task to the roots, which lifted up huge chunks of mud and sod to smother the blaze. The creepers dropped across Yennefer and the horses, trying in vain to cocoon them.

Geralt's head broke the surface. He climbed out of the water dragging a thing that looked like a huge, hairless rat with a flat tail. Looking around, he remarked "I don't think that was it. We're going to have to go deeper. Can you keep them off us, Yen?"

"Yes." I hope.

Geralt swung aboard Roach and kicked her into a gallop. Vandal followed without being prompted; Yennefer clung to him and concentrated on picking off the obstacles in their path.

The trees thickened and Yennefer and Geralt had to force their way through. Yennefer left behind a trail of crackling flames and heavy black smoke, after a while the trees grew wary and tucked their creepers away, leaning back as the horses pounded past. They came out onto what looked like a small hill rising out of the swamp. The horses climbed it, blowing and plunging in their haste to get away from the trees.

At the crest of the hill was a depression filled with inky water, about twenty feet in diameter.

Geralt stared at it, resigned. It smelled fouler than the worst pig swill Yennefer had ever encountered. There were half decayed corpses floating just below the surface of the water, some little more than skeletons.

"Don't suppose you fancy a swim?" he muttered.

"In this dress? Hardly."

He dismounted, drew his silver sword and, with a disgruntled expression, dove into the darkness. Immediately, his movements slowed. The water didn't ripple from his passage as Yennefer would have expected. It was thick and viscous. She saw Geralt as if through a light veil, stabbing and slashing about.

A many voiced hissing whine rose from the pool, like air forced through a dozen drinking bladders. The sword was wrenched from Geralt's hands and propelled upward, where it lay suspected in the gelatinous ichor, near the surface.

Geralt continued to stroke powerfully, drawing near to what must be the core of the creature.

 _Oh, Geralt_. Yennefer sighed. _One of these days I'm going to fasten a string round your sword and tie it to your wrist_. She sent a loop of force down the grasp the sword, shoving it, hilt first, toward Geralt. The ichor resisted her; she felt her forehead beaded with sweat by the time the sword reached Geralt's grasping hand.

He stabbed, again and again. Eventually the pool settled into quiescent silence. Geralt made an attempt to push back up but then he convulsed and his arms relaxed; Yennefer grabbed and yanked with her magic. He came out of the pool with a wet, sucking sound and flopped limply on the grass. Yennefer rolled him onto his back and bore down on his chest. A pint or so of mucus was forced out of his mouth and nose; he began to cough.

His breath smelled like a graveyard.

She staggered to her feet. Fortunately, her awareness spell was still thrumming; she wouldn’t have had the energy to cast another. She held herself upright with a hand on Vandal's saddle skirt.

"I'm done for the night. You?" Geralt broke out in a fit of coughing.

"I might be able to light a fire. Eventually. But that's about it."

"We'll have to rely on the horses, then." Geralt lay on his back, chest heaving. His clothing was gummed and hung with strands of dark weeds. His hair looked more dirt colored than silver.

Yennefer looked down toward the swamp. The trees looked normal. Some of them still burned. "I think we'll be safe. We’ve just killed the worst thing in the swamp." She dragged the saddlebags off the horses and laid the blankets out on the ground. "I'm going to get some firewood."

"Hmmm."

Many of the trees' roots were half burned. Yennefer broke them off, using Geralt's small hand axe. Her arms ached and she had a bitch of a headache. When she had gathered enough, she loaded them onto Vandal's back. The horse had trailed after her, refusing to move more than a few yards from her side. His ears flopped backward in the horse equivalent of a scowl at every sound.

When she returned, Geralt had managed to crawl beneath his sleeping fur and was wheezing in his sleep.

He must be completely tapped, Yennefer thought. Normally he was a light and silent sleeper. She dragged the wood down off Vandal, propped half of it up in a roughly pyramidal shape, and huddled in front of it until she felt she had enough energy to summon a fireball.

It was barely enough. The fire burned sluggishly and threatened to gutter out several times. She shielded it and fed it twigs until the heat was enough to withstand the cold wind that blew over the hill.

This was the life of a witcher. Cold. Lonely. Uncertain. Small wonder the opulence of her living arrangements had both repelled and drawn him. There was a beauty to it, hearing the wind moan and the swish of the grasses. The stars twinkled in patterns that she could still name; Tissaia had taught her many things that had no purpose, but which had given her a hunger for a world she had never before dreamed existed.

Roach and Vandal munched contentedly in the grass that thickly carpeted the hill. They were probably the first herbivores to have made it here in many years. She had removed their bridles and saddles and they had immediately gone down to roll in the mud.

Ugh. We will all need to be groomed in the morning, she thought. Geralt, in particular, reeked. She extracted a handful of dried fruit from the saddlebag and coaxed a sleepy-eyed Geralt into sharing it with her. He fell asleep again with a hand draped over her thigh. She pulled her blankets against him and snuggled into the heat of his body. There were no sounds but a contented munching and the thud of hooves and the crackle of the fire.

This is what I've been looking for, she thought, as she dropped off to sleep. Why did it take me so long to figure it out?


	3. Climbing Mountains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer and Geralt still have unresolved issues. Those issues are brought to an explosive head when Yennefer miscalculates her control over chaos. Yennefer has to make a choice about her future. She does so.
> 
> Then the dragon returns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still just Yennefer and Geralt. I like to take my time. Eventually Jaskier will be added, and I intend that it will be quite satisfying to all the G/J fans putting up with my het :)

The morning sun awakened Yennefer. She opened her eyes, still feeling the heat radiated out from the witcher beside her. His eyes opened as she stirred, and she noticed they weren’t fogged with sleep. “Been awake for a while?”

“Hmmm.”

She sat up. Roach and Vandal were having breakfast. Vandal was covered with dried mud, Roach’s was quite fresh.

“She never misses an opportunity,” said Geralt, noticing the direction of her gaze. “I’ve got a comb. I’ll show you how to use it.”

“A spell will take care of that.”

“You need to learn to conserve, Yen. This isn’t a situation where you know in advance when you’ll need to be at full strength. We came very close to falling short last night.”

“It’s just a temporary condition.” Yennefer rose and went to stare angrily at the fire. It had burned down to a few smoking coals. It would be so easy to just light it. Just a gesture.

_Was Geralt right? Have I crippled myself?_

Useless…worthless…less than half the price of a pig…

She felt Geralt’s hands on her shoulders, his body pressed against her. His erection. _He wants me_. Isn’t that enough?

_Listen to me. Pathetic. Finding my sense of worth because some man wants to fuck me._

_How is this any different from what you did in Aedirn? You pretended it was because of your power, but all you used it for was to make the king want you. You’re as much a whore as any other._

Geralt’s chin pressed down on the top of her head.

She took a long breath and let it out. “Just until we can talk to Borch. He can tell me if my power will return.”

“Yen.” His voice was chiding. She felt him nuzzle her hair. “You don’t need me to tell you how much you’re worth. It seems restrictive when you are used to plenty, but you’ll get used to it. It isn’t any different from living out under the stars when you’re used to a palace.”

“I suppose.” She knelt down and started feeding the coals small twigs.

He sat on the other side of the fire and watched her, a curiously contented look on his face. “We made a good team, didn’t we?” he asked, after a time.

Her lips twitched. “It was oddly satisfying.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Usually, when I’m fighting, I have to worry about not letting stray fireballs catch nearby houses, or accidentally torch our own troops. And then, when the two quarreling parties meet to work out the terms of surrender, either the lord I work for is such a bastard that I have to leave the room or I’ll vomit, or he’s so fuckingly noble minded that I have to leave the room or I’ll vomit. This was just a monster. Kill it and ride on.”

“These are the easiest jobs,” Geralt agreed.

“Not all monsters are monsters, are they?” she guessed. “Then what do you do? Whatever happens, at the end of the day, you have to live with it. There isn’t enough ale in the world, I imagine. Jaskier must have been a welcome irritant. A distraction from the constant claws of memory. You’ve endured the past year with no companion but your own sullen self.”

“I hadn’t really considered it from that perspective,” he remarked after a moment. “You might be right. “Though…” she heard what might have been a wistful smile in his voice “…he wasn’t always an irritant. That reminds me. You owe me a conversation.”

“I suppose.” She crouched down and blew on the coals, making them flare up. Tiny flames flickered around the twigs. She shifted the wood around to better catch the rising heat.

“I want to know about where you came from. In Vengerberg. Were you the child of a noble family? Of humble origins? You always turn my questions aside and I’m not the most perceptive person in the world, but…”

Vandal squealed with irritation, and she sent a silent apology to the horse. “Vandal. I need to go check him.”

“Yen.” His hand shot out, imprisoning her wrist. “You promised.”

“I can’t, Geralt.” Her heart was hammering, her breath coming in short gasps. She couldn’t lie to him. She couldn’t tell him the truth.

“We’ll go slow.” Geralt sat cross legged and yanked her down into his lap. He wrapped his arms around her. “Just like this. I’m a very patient person when I have to be, Yen. Don’t think you can out-wait me.” He kissed the side of her throat. “No, we’re not going there,” he told her as she turned her head and tried to capture his mouth. “We’re just talking.”

Yennefer closed her eyes. She wanted so badly to believe in him. To believe that he would be there to catch her when she fell. She tried to imagine what it would have been like on that day if it had been Gerald who had come to Vengerberg instead of Tissaia.

_He would never have seen me. People like that, we're invisible._

_Not me. Not anymore._

How serious was Geralt about poking into her head? Maybe she could divert him. Borch was waiting for them. That was a two-edged sword, though. Geralt was aware of how much she felt she owed the dragon for being aware of her situation and bringing Geralt to her.

Geralt is right. I'm obsessing over this. There are plenty of ugly women in the world. Many of them end up married, some of them even to men who love them.

Not that she had any desire for that kind of entanglement.

“Do you want to know who I was before I became who I am now? You want to see the pathetic child who the Brotherhood plucked out of the mud? The chance to gawk and marvel at what I escaped from?"

“I want to see you, Yen. I doubt you were ever pathetic, though maybe it seems so in comparison.”

“Fine. It will cost. Illusion spells are expensive.” She crawled out of his lap, across the mud. _Piglet. Make piglet sounds for_ …

Yennefer staggered to her feet. Not that memory…farther back. Remember the mud, the squeal of the pigs. The lumps that made it impossible to find a comfortable position, the pain of her frequently swollen flesh, the distortion of her features. The looks of revulsion.

The chaos reached for her. It was an entity she had no control over at that moment; sweeping over her like wave, drowning her.

Pig girl in the mirror, she has been waiting for you to let her out...

Her body shifted, reformed. No! She had meant it to be an illusion. Her shoulder swelled up, forcing her head over at an angle. Pain ricocheted through her face as the bones of her jaw were forced sideways.

_Piglet._

_Piglet._

_Nobody has ever loved her. Not even me._

“Yen? This is not an illusion.” Geralt sounded panicked.

“The spell went wrong.” Her voice was distorted. Not a child's voice, but not her own.

“It's alright.” His hands lifted, then fell helplessly to his side.

“What do you mean, it's all right?” He didn’t want to touch her anymore. She took a step back away from him.

 _Stupid girl. This is what you said you wanted, wasn't it? If only I could have chosen differently, you whined. Now you have your womb back._ Yennefer begin to laugh, a high-pitched, grating sound. “The magic just gave me my fertility back. What fucking irony.”

Do you suppose he'll fuck you one last time, just to prove that everything is the same between you? Will he vomit afterwards? No doubt destiny or whatever the hell is going on will make certain a child results. Was this what I really wanted all along? Is this why the chaos has given it to me?

Gerald's hands closed on her face, tilting it up carefully as if she were something fragile and precious. “We will deal with this, Yen. You made me a promise. Don’t back down.”

Jennifer closed her eyes. There was a dagger in her saddle bag. It would be easier the second time.

Gerald's lips captured hers. She felt the thrill of him run through her. He wants me.

_Does he?_

Gerald broke the kiss and stared down at her, thumb stroking the side of her chin. “Is this the worst of it, Yen? Or is there more to come?”

“Isn't this enough?” The words burst from her. “Tissaia bought me from him...” the word was a curse on her lips “for four marks. For less than half the price of the pigs I lived with.”

“I’d say she got considerably more than she paid for. Even if he didn’t value you, she saw your worth. Your potential. It was a good thing.”

“Weren't you listening? He sold me for four marks. I was nothing to either of them.”

“We're all nothing in the beginning, Yen. It isn't a bad thing. Not if we can change it.”

Chaos roiled and whispered to her. Gerald had not rejected her. She could have her child and him too.

It had been waiting for her, building. This was Piglet’s power, separate from Yennefer's. Never loved. Never wanted. Waiting its chance.

Geralt would give her what she wanted, but he would never be happy in that role. Piglet didn't care about children, she just wanted to be loved. Nobody would be satisfied, not even her.

_Make your choice, sorceress._

_I can't. I can't choose._

_You must make a choice or it will be made for you. Is that what you want to be? Someone whose choices are made for her?_

No. Slowly, reluctantly, Yennefer opened her hand, and let go of what she had been holding for so many years. No child. This is my choice. And I want nothing of his, I leave Vengerberg behind. I will be Yennefer of Fuck Off And Die. Piglet will come with me this time. Yennefer embraced the memory of the unloved child who had deserved better.

Chaos remade her, snapping her bones apart like fragile twigs. Her womb was torn from her body. She screamed at the loss. It was worse than the first time; she hadn’t realized what she was giving away.

When she came to, she was lying on a blanket. Her dress was torn at the shoulder, but the flesh beneath it was shapely.

Gerald sat beside her, soaping his bridle. His hands were a little unsteady. “That was...unexpected.” His fingers tangled in the leather straps. “Did I hurt you, Yen?”

“No.” She lay on her side, a curious sense of lightness lifting her spirits. Young Yennefer and old Yennefer, now part of an unbroken whole. Piglet had been tucked away with a warm blanket, no longer afraid. “We should get going. Borch will be expecting us.” It was something she would think about later, not now.

“We've already lost most of the morning. A few more minutes won't hurt.” He caught her gaze, watching her reaction carefully as he reached for the lacing of her bodice.

She helped him strip off her dress. The day was warm but the wind made her shiver, or maybe it was just Geralt’s presence. His hands traced the curves of her breasts, his head bent to tongue her nipple until she was squirming.

He switched his attention lower. He parted her legs and his thumbs sank into her, the rough calluses burning against her tender flesh. His tongue bore down on her nub, his thumbs plunging deeper. Her orgasm broke like a flash of thunder that rolled over her body. She was still spasming as her hands fumbled with his trousers, freeing his straining erection. “My hungry wolf. Devour me, Geralt.”

She gasped as he shoved inside her. Her body spasmed against him. His fierceness was the best part of their joining, that he wanted her so intensely. His face contorted and he growled “Yen!” and thrust one more time.

He collapsed beside her, muscles quivering in the aftermath. “Borch will have to wait,” he observed. “I haven't got a bone in my body.” His arm draped across her shoulder, his leg flung over her hip.

It was well past noon before they managed to pack up and head back into the swamp.

They met no more monsters on their way out. Once, Yennefer was startled by a flock of crows that flapped and cawed about her head, like black leaves in a whirlwind. They circled her twice and fled back in the direction of the distant mountains. She wondered if Borch had sent them.

At last the trees thinned and the pools of water grew shallow. The water grew cleaner.

They found a pool fed by a small waterfall and Geralt, at her insistence, stopped to bathe. As always, he was beautiful to watch. Muscles that rippled in a pleasing fashion, broad shoulders, muscled thighs, large hands whose touch still echoed in her body’s memory.

The silver of his hair caught and held the sun as he stepped out of the water. They refilled their water-skins, remounted and pointed their horses in the direction of the mountains.

Once away from the lower elevation that held the river and surrounding swamp, the ground quickly solidified. The hard dirt path that they traveled was relatively free of vegetation, and all but the occasional pebble. The fetid stench of the muddy water was swept away and replaced by the dry tang of pine and faint hint of dust. Birds sang and pecked among the boulders that lined the path, which quickly rose in elevation. Soon the horses were huffing, and Roach began to limp.

"Probably has a rock wedged in the mud." Geralt dismounted and Yennefer paused to scan their surroundings. To the north, a jagged line of mountains stretched up into the faded sky. To the east and west, a ribbon of green stretched as far as the eye could see, the dividing line between hill and swamp. A herd of deer traveled away from them, so distant that she could not determine their species. Too bad. Fresh venison would have been welcome.

"Here." Geralt handed her a small metal tool with a blunt hook on the end. "Use this to pick the mud out of his hooves, or he'll eventually pick up a stone large enough to start him limping."

She dismounted and looked dubiously at Vandal's legs. "How do I..?"

"Stand next to the leg, facing backwards. Run your hand this way, now, quickly, grab his leg. Hold on..."

It wasn't as complicated as it had looked. Vandal nudged her with what she assumed was gratitude afterward, as she mounted. Flies swarmed about his head, he shook them off and headed up the path.

Yennefer wasn’t sure how she felt about all this…manual labor. The novelty had definitely worn off. But she could feel power whispering along her nerves, growing. Not yet as it had been, but increasing. She wondered if Geralt would be pleased or disappointed.

Pleased. It wasn’t his habit to compete. Yet another reason she preferred him to any other traveling companion.

Vandal nickered. Roach’s ears pinned back.

Borch. His huge, leathery body lounged, draped over the boulders to the left side of their path. She’d have sworn he wasn’t there a moment ago. How could anything so large hide so well?

<You still have a day of travel. The destination is near the summit of the mountain. I have left markers at all the forks and crossings; look for a red pebble. Bring the markers with you.>

“Any particular reason you want us to walk? Is this one of those spiritual experiences?”

Borch chuckled. <I can’t carry your horses. If you’d like to leave them behind…>

Geralt glanced at Yennefer. “I can lead Vandal, if you want to go ahead.”

“I can wait.” She glanced at Borch. “Sorry we took so long.”

<I’d have worried if you didn’t. There were things you needed to work through.>

Yennefer frowned. She didn’t like the idea of Borch being aware of so many of the intimate details of her life.

<Much will be asked of you, Yennefer of…> his lips twitched. <Of all of you. Intimacy is the least of the new skills that you will have to learn.>

She glanced at him sharply. “I don’t much like the sound of that.” She looked at Geralt, who shrugged.

<Hear me out, that is all I ask. If you cannot bring yourself to help us in our time of need, then we will go on as we have before.>

“Who..?”

The gold dragon took wing. His form blotted the sun from her eyes for a moment as he passed overhead. He wheeled slowly in the air, banked and soared up toward the east crown of the hill


	4. Under The Mountain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Borch has told them to come to the mountain. Two Crowns, he called it. Yennefer owes Borch, and Geralt is inclined to humor the dragon, at the very least. And it's a job that pays well.
> 
> What they find on the mountain isn't what they expected.

The last stretch of their climb was the most difficult. The narrow strip of earth and stone was nearly vertical in places, if not for the unevenness of the rocky path there would have been no footholds. Both Yennefer and Geralt dismounted; the horses did not like the climb and had to be coaxed. Geralt didn't want either of them to be mounted if there was an accident.

At last they breached the lip of the left-most crown. Yennefer caught her breath. It was beautiful. A long, level meadow that stretched out as far as the eye could see. The wind whipped through the grasses, rustling and laying them down as if in homage to the sky.

Wildflowers dotted the meadow in small patches; purple, white, yellow, red. The flowers bobbed back and forth in the breeze, turning their brightly colored heads up to the sun. A few trees, bent over like wizened giants, exposed their bowed bodies to the mountain's edge, limbs trailing back away from the wind as if trying to escape its ravages, reaching in supplication to the tall hill that dominated the east side of the plateau.

“Could run sheep here,” Geralt grunted. "Lots of sheep."

To the northwest, a large pond glinted in the sunlight. Long-necked herons stalked through the waters on their stilt-like legs, occasionally stabbing downward. One brought up a small wiggling fish.

“That's not right.” Geralt frowned. “We're on the highest ground in the area. No runoff. What keeps the lake filled year-round? Fish should have died off in the hot summer months.”

“There's a power here,” Yennefer told him. She could feel it humming through her bones, from beneath the soles of her feet. Like water beneath ice, it flowed in the ground just below the surface.

“Fuck,” said Geralt. “Power means monsters. Stay close,” he told her.

She raised her eyebrows at him in elegant irritation.

He had the good grace to look abashed. “Sorry. Yes, I know you can take care of yourself. Habit.”

“I think we should both stay close,” she suggested. They pulled off the horses’ headgear and saddles and released them. Roach immediately headed for the lake at a gallop. Vandal had a good long roll and then hastened to join her.

“Where is the source?” Geralt asked.

To the northeast a hill rose up from the flat plateau. It looked to be about two hundred feet tall and approximately the same width. “There. Feels like it's under the mountain.”

Far to the east, the other plateau of the Double Crown was clearly visible. It was slightly taller than the west crown and less uniformly level. Boulders, some of them the size of watch towers were scattered around even smaller rocks, forming crannies and passageways.

“I wonder where the dragons are?” Yennefer turned and approached the south edge of the plateau, where the craggy rock dropped dizzyingly down, then turned into a gently forested slope and finally reached the swamp. From this height they could clearly see the wandering ribbon of water that fed the swamp and flowed farther south and west, presumably meeting the ocean in the far distance.

“Hell of a nice spot for a dragon,” Geralt pointed out. “Easy to launch, can't be sneaked up on.”

“Do you suppose this is his home?”

“Hmmm.”

Roach was rolling just inside the edge of the pond, water barely clearing her withers. She came up dripping, shook herself and started grazing. Vandal was eagerly ripping out chunks of grass as he followed the mare.

“We should go check out the hill.” Yennefer studied it, trying to get clues as to the nature of the magic source. It didn't feel completely natural, something had deliberately shaped it, leaving traces that could be detected, but the source felt like something natural.

They started forward. Grasses slapped against Yennefer's boots. The wind howled in her ears and flung her hair wildly about. She caught Geralt staring at her, an appreciative grin on his face.

“What?” she asked. He liked her disheveled, that was obvious.

“Wild Yennefer. You will never be tamed, Yen. You have the wind and the storm in your soul. You can never be bound. Or overlooked.”

“And you.” She caught up his arms by the sleeves, pulling them over his head, trapping them behind his neck. “You are earth and fire. Grounded in who you are and what you must do. But fire that burns in battle and in bed.”

“There's a nice patch of grass over there,” he pointed out.

“Magic first. Sex later.”

They resumed their approach toward the hill. As they rounded the east side, trees begin to appear, dotting the side of the hill, painting a pallet of green and brown almost to the crown. Like the windswept trees on the edge of the plateau, they were slightly deformed by the constant pressure of the wind, sparser branches on the windward side. But these were evergreens whose thick trunks were able to stand firm and straight like sentries against the storm. Ivy swarmed thickly across the uneven ground below and twined up the trunks.

“There's an opening beneath the plants. There.” Geralt waded out into the ivy.

“Clever.” There had been something a little unnatural about how the trees only grew on one side of the hill, though Yennefer had assumed that was because the wind was blowing from the southwest.

The cave mouth proved to be barely large enough for Geralt to negotiate, even stooped over. Yennefer wasn't fond of closed-in places, she had found herself trapped too many times as a child and a normal portal would be impossible to summon in a tunnel of this size.

Of course, if the worst happened, she would spontaneously panic-port, as Tissaia had dubbed her ability to teleport without summoning a portal, but she couldn't take Geralt with her. Or could she? She never tried to take someone with her. It was a thing to keep in mind if she ever needed to.

Ten feet in, the tunnel angled down steeply. Yennefer could see nothing in the darkness below, she had to rely on the sounds of Geralt's movements to guide her.

“Rocks here,” he warned. “Watch your hands and knees. Keep contact with the ground and you can clear them as you go.”

Damn you, Geralt, she thought. I may be falling in love with you. Having someone like him, someone who she knew she could rely on absolutely...it was a seductive temptation that threatened to sink its claws deeply into her heart.

Finally, the passage widened, enough that she and Geralt could sit side-by-side, gazing out at the impressive vista that had opened before them.

The ceiling of the huge cavern was decorated with stalactites, some reaching down twenty feet. Water dripped sluggishly from their tips, down into the pool far below. The pool was a brilliant blue, with multi-colored sparkles from some kind of crystal formations that lined its gently sloping bed. The crystals extended out past the borders of the pool, scattered in clumps and the occasional stalagmite, and up into the walls. Faint, glowing eyes of light could be seen radiating from crystals embedded in the walls.

Geralt was already measuring the distance to the floor of the cavern, looking for a likely landing spot. He craned his head, searching for footholds. “I'll go first. If you fall...”

“It's alright,” she told him. She rose, feeling the energies all about her, caressing her, whispering to her. The hairs stood up on her arms and down her back. _It's been waiting for me_. It was a strange, superstitious thought and she thrust it away. It was just chaos, and she was trained to control it. That was all it was. She gestured and a glowing circle appeared, balanced in midair a scant half step from the edge of the ledge.

“You could have put that closer,” Geralt grumbled.

“Don't be a baby,” she laughed, and flung herself into the portal.

It was an indescribable sensation. Transported, transformed. She was formless, weightless, careless. For one instant, suspended in time and space and then she was on the hard floor, stumbling. She barked her toes on a crystal formation.

Geralt was still on the ledge. “Just step through,” she called up to him. She wondered if he had ever been portaled before. He looked down, no doubt preparing himself for the impact if something went wrong, and stepped off the ledge.

Instantly he appeared in front of her, slightly wild-eyed. His head snaked about, taking in the change of scenery.

She let the portal fade away. “Was it that unpleasant?” she asked.

“Hmmm.” After a moment, his posture began to relax. “I don't know. Different.”

“Glorious,” Yennefer told him. She missed that, the surge of power at her fingertips, the knowledge that no barrier could keep her out or in, no place was beyond her reach. _This is what I was born for_.

“Hmmm.” Geralt knelt down beside the pool, peering in. “If we're going to run into any monsters, this is where they'll be.”

“Whatever it is will have to have a tough skin,” Yennefer agreed. “Mind the sharp points if you're going in.”

“Hmmm.”

“I know. You've been doing this a long time. You aren't exactly a cautious individual, though. Leading with your chin, trusting to potions and time to repair the damage. But one day you're going to run into something that even your Witcher potions can't heal. And if your potions can't heal it, I can't heal it.”

If he was listening to her he gave no sign of it. He leaned forward and slid into the pool. It was about a hundred feet in diameter, running most of the length of the cavern. They were well beneath the base of the hill, deep into the mountain. Yennefer could feel the sense of the ancient stone, pressing down on her. Geralt's element, not hers.

She brushed her fingers across one of the crystals, and the press of the rock receded. Her fingers tingled at the touch, the energies running up her arms. It was still chaos, but of a different flavor. There was something non-quiescent in it. Yennefer caressed the stone, which seemed to purr beneath her touch…it felt alive.

The thought took form in her mind and could not be dismissed. The crystals energies felt like…life. Like the trees and the grasses, the birds and the fish. Newborn babies. Yennefer shivered.

Geralt had reached the deepest point of the pool. He looked to be about forty feet down but it was difficult to estimate. The water was so transparent it seemed to magnify the view. _That's good, though. In case he runs into trouble I'll have a clear line of sight_.

Geralt reversed, kicked up and stroked his way to the surface. He breached the surface of the water, gasping for air.

That was Geralt, always cutting things close. She decided that there was no point in bringing it to his attention. After so many decades he wasn't likely to be changing his methods. And if he drowned, she would be there to pull him out.

 _I will try to be there for you, Geralt. We still must have our separate lives, but adjustments can be made_. He must be persuaded to call for her when he needed her. But how? There were items which could be enchanted, but that was not her area of study, no more than was the art of alchemy.

Geralt pulled himself out of the pool. His hair hung in dripping silver ribbons down his chest. “No monsters down there.” He seemed disappointed.

“There's an opening over there. Might be a lair”.

Geralt brightened. “Let's have a look.” He led the way, ducking down into the narrow passage. It was a tight squeeze for the muscular Witcher. At one point they had to lay on their stomachs and squirm forward, stone scraping across Yennefer's head. She felt the brush of a crystal beneath her fingers, embedded in the stone, and a sense of comfort whispered through her mind.

It would be worse for Geralt.

With one last painful grunt, Geralt squeezed through the passage into another large cavern. Not quite as large as the first, but completely overgrown with crystals, all glowing brightly.

Yennefer shaded her eyes with one hand. In the center of the crystals was a concave area and at the center of that nest-like area were two familiar shapes.

The first was Borch Three Jackdaws, sitting cross-legged, a serene look on his face. Beside him was a large egg, the same color as the egg that she had helped Geralt and Borch defend in the mountains of Caingorn, a year ago. The egg looked as though it might have grown since the last time she'd seen it.

“Welcome,” said Borch. “Welcome to the Heart of Dragons.”


	5. Dream of dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Borch outlines his plans to Geralt and Yennefer, and indicates what their next steps must be.

The Heart of Dragons was a crystal-studded cave sixty feet deep. One end opened to the outside of the mountain. Yennefer crossed the distance, feeling the edge of the crystals cut into her thin-soled boots. Dragons probably wouldn't even feel this, she mused.

Beyond the mouth of the cavern was a dizzying drop. Thousands of feet of sheer rock. Broad ledges protruded above and below the entrance, shielding it from view of those standing on the ground or flying above. It wouldn't be visible from the edge of the mountaintop. The opening was wide enough that Borch could comfortably have flown through with wings fully spread.

“Yen.” Geralt's voice echoed in the cavern, carrying over the waffle of the wind. “Borch has details for us. The job.”

The job. Yennefer hoped it was a thing that would give her the opportunity to return to this place. Reluctantly, she pulled herself away from the sunshine and wind that buffeted her upturned face.

Geralt was kneeling next to Borch. Yennefer eyed the crystals. She wasn't wearing Geralt's thick leather armor. Borch indicated a crystal with a wide, slightly concave surface. It looked like it had been shaped to fit a human-sized pair of buttocks. She gathered her dress and seated herself. I need something more practical to wear for these excursions, she thought. I wonder if Geralt will like me in breaches. Men were funny that way, one couldn't always predict their reactions.

“As you probably have already surmised, this is the green dragon's egg.”

“Did she have a name?” Yennefer asked, on impulse.

Borch shook his head, sadness in his eyes. “The wild ones almost never do. I have transported it here where it can be protected and Infused.”

“Infused? The crystals, I would assume. But what does that mean?” Yennefer asked.

“A dragon egg must absorb life energies in order to grow. Normally the parent will supply those energies, curling around the eggs so that they will be absorbed. But when the parent dies, the egg is starved unless the energy can be supplied from another source.

“The crystals.”

Borch nodded. “There's another need that must be supplied to a developing egg, and this is the secret which cannot be shared with anyone outside our company. I must have your sworn promise that you will keep our secrets before I continue. If it were to get out, my race would become even more vulnerable to the unscrupulous greed of fortune hunters and power-hungry lords.

Geralt considered this for a long moment. “As long as the secrets do not represent a direct threat to my order, I am free to swear this oath.”

Borch nodded. “I do not think you will encounter any conflicts.”

“Then, barring that exception, you have my sworn oath that I will keep your secrets.”

“You have my oath,” Yennefer told him. She owed the Brotherhood little. If anything, it was the reverse. The cowards and fools had not seen fit to set themselves against the Nilfgaardian hordes, ignoring the clear threat that they represented.

She hoped that the reason they stayed out was only that they were fools and cowards, the alternative was too terrible to contemplate.

Borch closed his eyes, his body sagging. “Thank you,” he said. “I am the only one left who knows what to do for them. If I were to die, all would be lost. My species would descend into a primitive state from which we might never recover.”

“How did this happen? You must have been more numerous at one time. Were you slaughtered by humans, like the elves?” Yennefer asked. She glanced over at Geralt but he only shrugged, content to let her ask the questions for both of them.

“I'm afraid this was something we did to ourselves. We golds…the draconic nature is a solitary one. Long ago we understood the importance of fighting against that, of sharing knowledge and responsibility amongst ourselves. But we grew arrogant and self-centered. The elves revered our kind. They would no more have molested our nests then they would have drowned their own infants. But the humans have no such scruples. When they replaced the elves as the dominant species, our nests were no longer safe.”

“I could see that the other colors would be killed, but you're a gold dragon. I should think you'd be able to protect your own offspring.”

“If we nested in groups, yes. But we had abandoned that practice. By the time we realized it was a mistake, it was too late.”

“But you’re gold dragon. Why didn't you just burn them?”

Borch looked uncomfortable. “Our...reproductive procedures are slightly different from those of the others.” He stared down at the green dragon's egg for a long moment. He cleared his throat. “We lay multiple eggs. At the end of our life cycle.”

A cold feeling gathered in the pit of Yennefer’s stomach. “You mean you die after you lay your eggs.”

“That is the essence of it, yes. Not immediately. It takes months, during which time we infuse the eggs with our knowledge, our culture. Only the golds infuse in such a manner; the other colors rely mostly on racial instinct. Individual experiences can be passed on. Dragons raised without benefit of that experience are what I refer to as the wild ones. Dragons who must rely on animal instinct for their survival. They are the ones most often preyed upon by humanity.”

“Dragon components are most highly sought-after by alchemists,” Yennefer observed. She felt a twinge of guilt. The potion that Hemet had been feeding her had powdered dragon intestine as one of the components.

“Unfortunately. Dragon bodies are infused with the energies of life. Those energies can be harvested and used.”

“The job.” Geralt reminded him. His face was set in unhappy lines. “You want us to guard your offspring.”

“No.” Borch gave a wry smile and patted Geralt's arm. “Not yet, my friend. I'm still quite attached to my own existence. No. I want you to collect for me more dragon eggs.”

“From dead dragons?” Yennefer asked.

“Not...necessarily.” His gaze shifted away from hers. “The wild ones...they have nothing to pass on to their offspring. Often, their energies are inadequate because their bodies have not developed properly from lack of energy while they were in their own eggs. If the eggs can be brought to this place, they can be fed properly.”

“You want us to take their eggs and bring them here.” Yennefer considered this for a moment. “But then even the dragon’s own experiences can't be passed on. Isn't that a benefit that would be lost? Doesn’t that mean they’d be wild?”

Borch took a deep breath and caught her gaze with his. “Infusion needn’t be done by another dragon. A human could imprint information into the mind of an enshelled dragon. This is the secret that could make my species vulnerable to those who would see us as just another means to power. A lord could steal a dragon egg and expose it to contact with a loyal underling. The transfer is not absolute, but when a dragon imprints it is unalterable.”

“Imprints?”

“The process is similar to that of the birds. When a bird hatches, the first moving thing it sees becomes its role model. Even if it is a different species. For dragons, imprint usually begins in the shell. It is important to have an imprinter with the egg at all times, and changing imprinters can confuse it.”

Yennefer glanced at Geralt. “Who is supposed to do this imprinting?”

“There's one more addition which needs to be made to our group. It is he whom I want for this egg. This little one has felt the violent death of her mother and she has been starved of energy, far too long. She will be stunted, I fear. Were she not imprinted by a sympathetic mind, one who understands weakness and does not despise it, she would be crippled. Her mother sought me out, laid claim to my protection for her child. I must do my best.”

“You want Jaskier,” Yennefer guessed.

“Not a good idea,” Geralt pointed out, “if you want to be keeping secrets. Jaskier couldn't keep a secret if his life depended on it. He's proved that several times.”

“What about me?” Yennefer asked. “I could do it.” _Damn you for making me ask, Borch_.

“It would be kind to neither of you, my dear. It would take more patience than you possess. She would remind you too much of your younger self.”

“I've come to terms with her,” Yennefer told him.

“You are indeed moving in that direction, and it is vital that you continue to do so. But not with this little one.”

“When, then?”

He smiled. “There is a black dragon who hides near Elgar, northwest of Pont Vanis. She has a crippled wing and cannot fly, so she steals from the farmers and lives in a cave wrapped around an underground river. She is feral. This is a great danger to both your people and my race. Humans must be made to see us as something other than monsters. Animals. The black is the strongest female species, and the longest-lived. She should have had much to pass on to her child. But she wasted her time raiding human settlements and stirring things up and ended up crippled and hunted. They've sent for a Witcher to track her down. You need to get to her first. Bring her here, if you can. She is close to spawning. If you can acquire her egg, you shall have your dragon child. Geralt, you need to find Jaskier.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Couldn't I just bring back some random…sympathetic person? How about a physician? They fix broken things.”

“You’re just afraid you’ll have to apologize to him, to get him back,” Yennefer teased.

Geralt gave her a surly look.

“There must be a balance among us, if we are to serve all needs.”

“If there was ever one to unbalance things it is Jaskier.”

“What stool is more stable, the one on two legs or three?”

“Not the same thing,” Geralt muttered.

“Geralt, you are the sword. Yennefer is the wind. Jaskier is the heart. I foresee that we will need all three elements if my species is to be saved.”

“How important is Jaskier to this?” Yennefer asked curiously. “And why?”

“Jaskier alone among you understands what it is like to need to get along with people. If my species is to survive, it must learn to coexist. To live among humans, to blend in. Geralt has no need to, and you, Yennefer, would rather manipulate them than nurture them. And neither of you is very good at blending in.”

“True,” Yennefer admitted. “But I can learn. I will learn. You know that I want this.” She glared at Borch defiantly.

“Can you? Learn from Jaskier, then. Let him guide you. It will come naturally to him, compassion and camaraderie was always his way, even as a child.”

“Oh, that will go well,” Geralt muttered. “Do you have any idea how their first meeting went? It wasn't pretty.”

“Destiny has set in motion events that will shape you all. It will not be pleasant. Yennefer has already experienced some of that.”

“Did you know what would happen to me?” Yennefer demanded.

“Yes.” Borch’s face was expressionless.

“And you just let it.”

“You cannot see the whole pattern. I can. You lived through it and you are stronger for it. Do you deny that?”

She looked away from him.

“You must be the head, Yennefer. The heart cannot lead, nor can the arm.”

“I had enough of that at Soddem Hill,” she snarled at him. “It got us slaughtered.”

“Do you think someone else could have done better?”

She stared at the far distant peak of the east crown. “I don’t know,” she admitted honestly. “But I just wish…”

“That it hadn’t needed to be you?”

“It’s not a thing I crave. Power, yes. But only my own. Not to direct the lives of others.”

“But those make the best rulers, my dear. If they have the courage to take the mantle. For those, it is indeed a heavy burden.”

“Not sure I completely agree with your plan, Borch," Geralt gave him an irritated look. "And why don’t you send Yennefer after Jaskier? I’ll be forever finding and fetching him.”

“It must be you. And Yennefer must go to Kovir.”

“Bloody destiny,” Geralt muttered. “How do I get out of here? I’m not crawling through that fucking tunnel again.”

“Yennefer, you may set up a portal anchor in the cavern. It is not a thing I allow lightly. Do not open it unless you are completely safe.”

A portal anchor would allow her to open a portal to this place from anywhere. “Where do I portal to from here? The base of the mountain?”

“I will carry you to your destination. I hope you will be pleased.” He smiled. “It was a long time being built. Much like this cavern.”

Yennefer frowned. “Are you saying that you built this place?”

“I did. It has taken over a hundred years to hollow out the stone and induce the crystals to grow. I have had much time to think on what I must do, and to wait for all the elements to come into play.”

“This mountain is beautiful,” she said honestly. “I can’t imagine a place more…perfect.”

“I am gratified to hear you say that, my dear. It is my hope…that you will consent to make this place your home.”

“My home?” Yennefer caught her breath. A home? A place of refuge? “I…” It wasn’t what she had expected, coming here. _Is it what I want?_

“Place your anchor, my dear. Then I will carry you and Geralt to a place where you can take your ease, have some dinner and spend a leisurely evening pursuing your own comforts.”

Geralt was on his feet instantly. “Good.” He eyed the crystals. “Not fond of caves full of rocks.”

“At least it isn’t full of monsters.” Yennefer slipped her hand into his, rubbing the fingers over his callouses. Beautiful, strong, scarred fingers.

“Not a benefit.”

She dropped Geralt’s hand, stretched her fingers out and drew power. It wasn’t the first time she had sunk an anchor; Tissaia had made her practice it over and over. She’d wanted Yennefer to be educated in all aspects of portal magic, because of Yennefer’s affinity. It was her elvish blood, they both knew, but Tissaia hadn’t liked to acknowledge it. Yennefer wasn’t sure if her heritage made her mentor uncomfortable, or if she simply thought it safer to leave buried.

There was an initial resistance. Yennefer could sense it, like a brooding watcher, assessing her intent and grudgingly giving way, allowing the anchor’s roots to sink into the earth. Yennefer wondered if the watcher was Borch himself, or if there was another presence, one which either answered to the golden dragon or allied with him. As she had intended, the anchor drew its power from the crystals surrounding it. Normally the sorcerers had to purchase an object crafted by a high-level Enchanter to power their anchors. “Done.”

Borch began to change.

She had never seen him transform before. His clothing seemed to melt away; some kind of enchantment? Did it translocate, she wondered, or did it become part of him? His limbs expanded, skin bronzed and then turned gold. The tail was interesting; his spine bulged with spurs and lengthened, naked bone for only an instant until the flesh flowed up to cover it and down as the dragon’s tail extended.

Geralt’s eyes roved over the huge, shifting body, no doubt cataloging weaknesses and assessing potential attack strategies; it was as much a part of the man as breathing or eating. Or fucking. He caught her gaze and his lips twitched; he knew how well she knew him.

<Come with me> Borch led them to the cave mouth. <Try to relax your body. I will not let you fall>

His huge clawed forepaws scooped Yennefer up and she suppressed a gasp as the dragon flung them both over the edge and they were falling. Then his wings caught the air with a small whuff and the wind screamed by her ears, yanking at her hair and pulling tears from her eyes. _Not quite the ride I had hoped for_. She narrowed her eyes and watched the vista tilt and whirl about as the dragon banked and glided back toward the mountain.

She could make out another opening in the sheer stone, perhaps twenty feet above and to the left of the top of the mouth of the cave. Surrounding it was a semi-circular ledge, with a lip approximately the height of a sitting man. Borch deposited her carefully onto the ledge and perched, clinging to the face of the cliff. <Make yourself comfortable. I will return in a moment>

The opening was roughly the size of a doorway. Yennefer stepped inside.


	6. Parting Ways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer is offered a permanent home in the Heart of Dragons? Is it what she wants? She's not sure yet. Geralt isn't sure he entirely approves of the new place.
> 
> Then Geralt is sent off the find Jaskier, at Borch's request. He thinks Borch is making a mistake, but it's a job, right? And Yennefer is making her own preparations...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last of the purely Yennefer/Geralt chapters for a while, and the last chapter of this book. I will be publishing the next chapter, a Geralt POV, as a separate book after I have created the series. I will also create a separate branch for Yennefer's pursuit of her egg. I'm not sure which branch my readers will be more interested in, weigh in if you like. But I have three Jaskier chapters written and once I've given them time to age properly in my mind I'll publish them. First one tomorrow, probably.
> 
> One of the reasons I wanted to start publishing in separate books is that some of them will have some strong warnings on them. Other than the first one, these chapters have been pretty fluffy so far. Significant, I hope, but not stressful. That will change. I'm a big h/c fan, as those who have read my X-Files works can attest to, and the lives of Geralt, Yennefer and Jaskier are going to take a very dark and savage turn eventually.

The room was spacious, certainly larger than she would have guessed from its unprepossessing exterior. There was a double size, four-poster bed pressed up against one wall. Yennefer wondered how the dragon had managed it. Probably built it himself. Was this his home? It made her feel a little uncomfortable, as if she was intruding.

The design was clever. A stone basin jutted out from the wall opposite the bed. Above it, an opening extended up into the ceiling. Water trickled continuously from the opening, was routed down into the basin by means of a channel shaped into the rock, and then drained from the basin down into the floor.

Ledges of stone supported neatly crafted cupboards. A round varnished table inlaid with mother-of-pearl and gold leaf sat between sink in bed, a bowl of grapes and apples had been set out on the table.

Yennefer plucked up a grape and popped it into her mouth. Slightly bitter, definitely Northern grown, but no more than a day old. She wondered if it had been harvested from the plateau.

The room contained a large lacquered chest painted with scenes from a bardic tale she recognized, about a knight who is given three tasks in order to win his true love. The first task involved cleaning out a nest of bandits, the second to acquire a dragon's heart and lastly, to find the swiftest steed in the world. In the end he decides he'd rather have the horse than the girl and off he goes to a ribald chorus of “liddie low, liddle lorse, it’s good to be a horse…”

The illustration of the dragon was inset with hammered gold leaf, and its eyes glittered in the faint light reflected from the open doorway. The knight held a huge, heart-cut ruby in his dripping hand.

The light was blocked for a moment as Geralt came in through the doorway, followed by Borch. The witcher's eyes took in everything at a glance, coming to rest on the bed. He folded his arms and parked himself in the center of the room, with the air of a man who is determined to be patient even if it kills him.

Borch gave Yennefer an inquiring look.

“Like everything else...impressive,” she told him “Is this your home?”

He chuckled. “No. It is not to my taste. I prefer something larger and less civilized. No. It was intended for you.”

“That's impossible. We only just met a year ago.” There was a brittle note in her voice that Yennefer could not prevent. Destiny, again. She hated the feeling that her life was being controlled by something she could neither perceive nor influence.

“Oh...not you specifically, but the one who would fill this role someday. I told you, I have been planning this for some time.” Borch's tone was faintly reproachful.

“I see.” It helped. Roles...that was something she was more comfortable with. A thing she could slip into and make her own. “May I place an anchor here as well?”

Borch smiled. The toe of his boot scuffed aside a rug that lay on the floor, and beneath it was a transparent slab of crystal embedded in the stone, perhaps the width of Geralt's shoulders. “I'll leave you two now. You have much to...discuss.” A wistful smile touched the old dragon’s lips. “I trust you'll have no difficulty portaling up to retrieve your supplies?” After receiving Yennefer's nod, he turned and exited the room.

“Hmmm...it really needs some kind of door,” Yennefer remarked. “And light fixtures. I wonder if...”

“Fuck the door!” Geralt growled. He stalked across the floor. His yellow eyes glowed with predatory intent. He wrapped his arms around her and she could feel the stiffness of his rigid cock pressing into her.

She helped him hastily shed his armor and clothing. “How long have you had that?” she asked. His cock was so dark it looked almost bruised.

“All fucking day,” he growled. “Ever since I started touching those fucking crystals. Fuck, Yen!” Without waiting for permission, he scooped her up and tossed her onto the bed.

With a chuckle she sent a whisper of chaos to portal her clothing into a spot directly above the lacquered chest. She didn't even have time to notice whether it had reached its destination before Geralt was upon her.

Yennefer portaled both of them to Vizima, where there was an anchor used by most sorcerers as their entry point into Temeria. It was placed inside the basement of an inn, in the middle of the biggest merchants’ plaza in the city.

Geralt frowned, looking at the low ceiling and narrow doorways that led from the room. “Roach isn’t going to fit in here,” he remarked.

“She won’t have to. This is just so we can get supplies. I have accounts with all the major merchants in the city and my business is welcomed. Once we have what we need, I’ll take you to a pass on the Mahakam Mountains. I sunk an anchor there in case I needed an emergency exit to somewhere I wouldn’t be bothered by anyone.” The power source for the anchor had cost her dearly. She’d buried it beneath a ton of avalanched rock after setting the connection. Any sorcerer who happened upon it and thought to steal it from her would have a hellish time trying to dig it out.

“I’ll meet you back here at eleven bells, then?” Vizima had a huge clock tower in the center of the city, ringing out the hours to its inhabitants.

“That should be enough time.” There was an armorer in town, Imiri Willowisp, who was reputed to be the best in the Northern Kingdoms when it came to crafting armor that was both functional and attractive for the female form. She had been intending to visit Imiri for some time, but somehow it had never happened.

Imiri Willowisp was an elf. At least, that was what she called herself. Yennefer wasn’t certain that was all there was to the story. Her ears were pointed and she had no cuspids, true, but the top of her head barely came up to Yennefer’s shoulder, and her muscular shoulders bespoke a far sturdier heritage than the thin, fragile elven physique would account for.

She took one look at Yennefer and the corners of her mouth turned down. “My armor’s for soldiers, not for show,” she said.

Yennefer looked down at her coolly. “Put a sword in my hand and we shall see what shows,” she said.

Yennefer considered herself a decent swordswoman, but, as she had expected, she was no match for the wiry, quick Imiri. However, her display had the desired result.

Imiri took her into a back room draped with cloth and strips of leather. “Strip,” she said.

Yennefer gestured and her clothing fluttered down to puddle on the floor.

“Didn’t need to lose the foundations,” Imiri muttered. “Flashy bitch.”

“Absolutely.” Yennefer grinned at her.

“Elf blood. I could taste it. Portaler.” Imiri grinned back. “If you’ve the cash, I can give you something extra. An anchor built in so you can summon the armor when you need it.”

“I’d be grateful,” Yennefer told her. It was easy enough to portal something away, but to bring it to you in such a way that it fit in all the right spots…that was a feature worth having.

“What color…never mind. Black, of course. And the design…you are a sorceress so the sword isn’t going to be your first line of defense. You will want something that gives you coverage but looks like it’s more ornamental, the element of surprise is always our best defense, is it not?”

Tears prickled in Yennefer’s eyes. _She’s like me. She understands_. “Most blows come out of the dark,” she quoted and the elf nodded.

Imiri sat down on a rickety old bench at a table scored with old cuts and hammer marks. “I don’t do rush jobs,” she warned Yennefer. “It will be a week, then you come back for a adjustments, then three more days. More if you want it styled to catch the eye. A silhouette’s a hard thing to sculpt. Still, it’d be a waste not to make use of a figure like yours.” She ran her fingers over Yennefer’s body. “Twisted, hmm? I’d heard the Brotherhood could fix that.”

Yennefer caught her breath, struggling not to let out the bright pulse of rage that the woman’s casual mention of her deformity evoked. “Not much for tact, are you?”

“Not at my age. If people don’t like it they can go elsewhere for their goods.”

“How old are you?” If Imiri could be rude, so could she.

“Three hundred. Give or take.”

“Dwarvish blood.”

“Probably. Didn’t get these arms from an elf.” Imiri flexed her wiry biceps. She wore a simple leather vest that uncovered her arms and thick leather trousers marred by burn marks and layers of accumulated grime.

They haggled on the price. Yennefer ended up paying a lot more than she had intended; she wasn’t sure whether that was because she had underestimated the price or Imiri just outclassed her at bargaining. Probably both.

They parted with a handshake. Yennefer headed off with recommendations for a good bladesmith; she had lost her sword, along with everything else, at Soddem. Melted to slag while hanging from her belt. It had been a thing she hadn’t noticed until later, seeing the warped bit of metal attached to what was left of her clothing. She had felt it banging against her hip as… Yennefer ripped her mind away from the memory. As Borch had said, and fuck him for saying it, she was stronger for what she had been forced to endure.

Is this what Geralt’s life was like? Swallowed by a selkiemore, buried in its stinking guts with no hope of a rescue, dragged beneath the waters by drowners and ripped open by monsters and then again, ripped apart in a different way by those who considered him as much of a monster as all the others that they fear? Never helpless, as she had been, but alone and sometimes unarmed. Especially against the slings of the ignorant.

There were wounds in Geralt that she could not heal. She simply did not know how. She knew to be strong, as he did. Unlike him, she had the luxury of hiding who she was, of recreating herself. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see him healed, but she could not do for him something she couldn’t do for herself.

Borch thought there was something in Jaskier that could heal. Yennefer had her doubts, but then, Jaskier wasn’t at his best around her. A condition she freely admitted to have cultivated, to keep him away. Bath salts. A smile twitched her lips. She imagined the bard bathing Geralt with bath salts. It would have been…intimate. She wasn’t comfortable with intimate. Sex was about power and pleasure. A mechanical function that she enjoyed and used for her own purposes, even with Geralt sometimes. He was a man after all. It wasn’t that she didn’t care for him, but their interactions were too often driven by necessity.

Trust did not come easily to Yennefer, but there was something in Borch that drew that emotion from her. He didn’t pull his punches, and if he was a manipulator, and he must be, really, he was too good to let it show. That was all right. He had something she wanted. Belonging. Safety. A legacy.

She headed down the street in search of a sword.

Roach hadn’t been pleased to be caught and saddled. She’d bitten Geralt at least twice that Yennefer had noticed. Vandal had stood to one side, watching the proceedings with an indifferent eye. He’d put on some weight…too much eating and not enough walking…and Yennefer was tempted to accompany Geralt at least part way down the mountains. But Borch had been adamant; they each had their own separate tasks to accomplish.

A dragon child…not the same as a real child, of course. But it would be a legacy that spanned far beyond her lifetime. She would be significant. That was all she had wanted.

The portal yawned wide and Geralt kicked Roach through. On the other side, Yennefer caught a glimpse of bare stone and dusty canyons.

She let the portal die.

<Come> Borch invited her. <I will draw you a map. Your dragon needs you.>

She opened a portal into the cave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The format of this story is a little non-standard. I was trying to find a way to have different sets of tags and pairings for different chapters, and the only way I could accomplish that was to split the story into multiple chained stories. So just go on to the next one...


End file.
